


the long night is over

by happynotdignified



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anti-Daenerys, Brienne is a knight, Character Death, F/M, Ghost is a good boy, Jon Snow is King in the North, Married Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Not Canon Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, The North is Independent, and does not get left behind, baby Jon/Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happynotdignified/pseuds/happynotdignified
Summary: “Where is the third?” Arya mumbled quietly as the three women squinted at the horizon.Sansa swallowed thickly, “we don’t know which one is missing.”“And a missing dragon does not mean His Grace is not safe,” added Brienne solemnly.Sansa nodded sharply, “I pray to the old gods that you are correct Ser Brienne.”-------Or: The dragons return from defeating the Night King to Winterfell where the Queen in the North is not about to hand over the North's independence.





	the long night is over

It had been almost seven moon turns since the King in the North had flown beyond the Wall upon a dragon, alongside his aunt and her Hand. It had been five moon turns since the Queen in the North had realised her husband had left with her the most precious of gifts; a babe. And now, the Queen stood upon the ramparts, cradling her unborn child with her sister and sworn shield on either side, watching as two shadows in the sky drew ever closer. Below in the courtyard, Bran sat in his wheeled chair, waiting to greet the party.

“Where is the third?” Arya mumbled quietly as the three women squinted at the horizon.

Sansa swallowed thickly, “we don’t know which one is missing.”

“And a missing dragon does not mean His Grace is not safe,” added Brienne solemnly. “If Rhaegal has fallen, he could fly behind Daenerys.”

Sansa nodded sharply, “I pray to the old gods that you are correct Ser Brienne.”

And pray she did, as Sansa knew that the future for herself and the remainder of House Stark, including her babe, was unsafe without Jon to breach the gap between Daenerys and herself. Before they had flown North to fight the last battle against the Night King, Daenerys had not been able to hide her lack of acceptance of the North’s independence. It was only in the face of the Northern lords’ refusal to fight alongside her against Cersei and Jon’s promised loyalty as a Targaryen that had held Daenerys off. Sansa knew that without Jon, the Dragon Queen would take the North, strip her of Winterfell and she dreaded to think what could happen to her child.

As the dragons came within the bounds of Winterfell, Drogon was instantly recognisable but it was Rheagal who made Sansa’s heart soar. Not for the dragon itself, but for his rider. He was safe. He must be.

“Open the gates!” ordered Arya to the soldiers on her right as the dragons landed at a safe distance from the castle walls.

However, as the portcullis was raised below the walls to allow the riders back into the castle, Sansa drew a sharp breath.

“Something is not right,” muttered Sansa as she watched the dragons. “That is not Jon!”

“Of course its Jon, who else can ride Rheagal?” asked Arya but didn’t sound as confident as she words would indicate.

“Lord Lannister, it would seem,” Brienne replied and indeed, she was correct. The figure who slid off Rheagal’s back was not the tall, muscled King but a dwarf. Tyrion, Hand of the Queen. Sansa’s eyes darted to Drogon’s rider in a moment of desperation. But the long silvery hair of Daenerys Stormborn was recognisable even at this distance.

Sansa felt the bile rise in her throat; had what she dreaded for months actually come to pass.

Arya caught her eye, “I will close the gates again if you want Sansa.”

Sansa shook her head, grateful for her sister, “no … I need time, stall them with Bran. I will be in my solar.”

Arya nodded to Brienne quickly before descending to stand behind Bran with the bannermen of their house.

“Help me to my rooms, Brienne,” Sansa said taking the arm her shield immediately offered her.

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Sansa sat behind the huge desk which dominated her and Jon’s shared solar with Brienne standing at her back, trying to resist the urge to vomit. She knew better than to let her emotions overcome her in the face of an enemy. No matter how much Jon trusted the Dragon Queen, she did not. Arya entered the solar eventually and was closely followed by the Targaryen and Tyrion.

“May I present Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of the _Six_ Kingdoms of Westeros and her Hand, Tyrion of House Lannister.” Arya drawled with a sardonic look at her sister. Daenerys smiled a sickly sweet smile at Sansa before Ara continued more purposefully, “And to you I present, Sansa, the Red Wolf of House Stark, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell.”

“Welcome back to Winterfell,” Sansa intoned in her stately voice, hoping to mask the unease she felt. “I apologise I was not in the courtyard to greet you but such are the problems of being with child.”

Daenerys smiled, “Lady Arya was most welcoming, have no fear. I was so pleased to hear about your condition, _Lady_ Sansa.”

Sansa grit her teeth, “ _Queen_ Sansa. You know better than anyone the power of a title, your Grace.”

“That I do,” Daenerys replied meekly. “We bring great news to be celebrated throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the War for the Dawn is over and the living emerge victorious.”

“I congratulate and thank you,” Sansa smiled “And may I ask the cost of this victory. How fares my King?”

Daenerys exchanged a glance with Tyrion who looked uncomfortable, “we have lost many a brave man from the South and the North as well as many Wildlings, Dothraki and Unsullied. It is with great sadness that I must tell you, we believe King Jon to be dead.”

“You _believe_? You do not know?” growled Arya which Sansa was grateful for because she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“He was lost during the final battle, we never found a body. Some of those who last saw him report he killed the Night King but then in the chaos of the dead finally remaining dead, he was lost. For all we know he could have been killed by the Night King at the same time he defeated him.” Tyrion elaborated.

Sansa stood sharply from her chair, “my apologies but I would grieve alone. Ser Brienne will see that you have refreshments and chambers whilst you await the return of the army.”

And with that Sansa turned towards the inner door to her chamber maintaining a face of steel until she was firmly behind a closed door and alone. Finally, feeling the tears flow down her cheeks, she collapsed on the furs of her bed, lost to the world. Of only two things was she aware; the gaping hole where her heart might once have been and the steady kicking of Jon’s child.

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A moon’s turn later, Sansa was again abed with tears running down her face and the kicking of a child in her arms. But this time, the tears were of joy and her son was at her breast with a mop of dark curls already so like his father. After many hours of hard labour, she finally could see her boy.

“I never thought I would care for children,” Arya said from beside the bed “but I think I will make an exception for this one.”

Sansa smiled up at her, “this one is to be called Robb.”

Arya bit her lip, “the young wolf. Robb would be proud of you, Sansa.”

“And you, Arya, we have protected the North. For him. For mother and father. And for Jon,” Sansa replied, her voice breaking slightly on the last word. “They’d all be proud.”

“The fight is not over yet my lady,” Brienne spoke up from the door. “The Queen is on her way to offer her congratulations.”

Arya stiffened up beside Sansa and Robb, “perhaps she may play her cards after all these weeks.”

“Send her in,” Sansa murmured softly, not taking her eyes off her son. When they had lost Jon, Sansa’s heart had shattered for her life with him but also his power to keep the North safe. However, once the Northern lords and armies had returned in the days after Daenerys and Tyrion, she had become confident that if it came to it, the bannermen would remain loyal to House Stark and the North in the face of Daenerys’ desire for power over all seven kingdoms.

Brienne opened the door, allowing Daenerys in with her usual handmaiden, Missandei, who waited near the door with Brienne.

“I am so happy you are both well,” Daenerys grinned as she walked over and looked down at the boy in Sansa’s arms. “He is the image of Jon. He will make a fine king.”

Sansa nodded, “thank you, your Grace. My son is young but the blood of the North runs through him. He will be a great king.”

“There are of course some details to discuss about the boy,” Daenerys continued, taking the seat Arya had previously occupied. Sansa looked up at her at last; since Daenerys had opted to stay in Winterfell till Jon’s child was born instead of beginning the march south to Cersei, Sansa had been suspicious of her motives.

“Firstly of course there is his name,” Daenerys began. “I thought perhaps Aegon as Jon was originally named. But we should also consider Jahearys, Viserys or Rheagar, these are all strong Targaryen names. Missandei has found a wet-nurse for the boy, so you needn’t feed him yourself anymore. Of course, the sooner she starts the better as then we can be on the way to Dragonstone. I have arranged for some of the finest maesters and swordsmen to be his tutors so he will learn how to rule as I do and I will care for him as he were my own son. You of course are welcome to join us in King’s Landing once the mad tyrant Cersei is overthrown.”

The anger that coursed through Sansa’s veins was so strong, she was surprised she wasn’t breathing fire as if she were Drogon himself. She gently passed Robb to the midwife, noticing as she did so both Arya and Brienne’s hands clenched tightly around their swords. She pulled herself up to her full height on the bed, smoothing her hair and smiled at Daenerys.

“There appears to be some confusion, your Grace. My son will not be going anywhere with you, especially not the South. He is a Stark of Winterfell and from the moment he was born, he has been the King in the North. He is not going to be named after one of your mad brothers who neither of his parents knew. My son has been named Robb. Robb after Jon and I’s brother who we loved, who fought for the North and Winterfell. Robb will never go South unless he chooses so when he is old enough. Wolves belong in the snow and the North. And if you try to fight me on this Daenerys, the wrath of the North will come down upon you for you are not the Queen here. The Northern Lords will never bend the knee again except to their own. The only way you will rule us is if you burn us to ashes and then you will be queen of the ashes, not the North.”

Daenerys glared at her, her friendly mask finally slipping, “Sansa, you do not wish me your enemy. My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror took the North by force and I will do it again if I must.”

“Aye, that is what Targaryens are – conquerors not rulers,” Arya hissed.

Daenerys ignored her, “You forget the peace treaty signed by myself and Jon. As I am barren, his eldest child was to be my heir and all subsequent children would belong to the North. Therefore, at our deaths, the seven kingdoms would be reunited.”

“Yes, that is the treaty you made,” Sansa confirmed, “but Jon’s councillors have appointed me as Robb’s regent until he is a man grown. The treaty cannot be fulfilled as Jon will not have subsequent children to inherit the North. The North is Robb’s and Robb’s alone.”

“Jon would not want this.”

Sansa felt her composure waning, “Do not speak on his behalf! Jon is _gone_! You do not know what he would’ve wanted! But I do. He wanted what his people wanted. As you know, each Northern House has sent a representative to meet their new King. We shall convene to them and their vote will decide whether we bend the knee. If they choose not too then you will take your soldiers and dragons and never again set foot over the Neck.”

“And if they do not?” Daenerys snarled.

Sansa felt a smile finally push at the corners of her mouth, “The North will decide.”

“As you wish, _your_ _Grace_ ,” Daenerys said mockingly before storming out of the room.

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“The North knows no ruler but the King and Queen in the North whose name is Stark!” Lyanna Mormont declared to the room full of Northmen.

“Jon Snow was a Targaryen,” pointed out Tyrion from his seat at the top table.

Arya snorted, “in blood only! My brother was raised in the North in Winterfell as a Stark, my father, although not his biological father, was the only father Jon ever knew. Jon spent his whole life in the North. He married a Stark and their son is a Stark.”

“There is a treaty signed by King Jon declaring his heir would be Queen Daenerys’ heir also,” spoke up Lord Varys.

“Enough,” Lord Umber snapped. “We will vote and then this matter will be over.”

Sansa nodded in acknowledgement, “thank you Lord Umber. Each man and woman of the North is free to vote by placing an ‘x’ on the parchment that Lord Varys holds. You will receive the results before the feast this evening.”

And so it was, a few hours later, the Lady of Winterfell addressed the Great Hall with Arya and Bran on one side and Daenerys on the other.

“The vote has been counted,” declared Sansa “and checked by members of Queen Daenerys’ council. Unanimously, the North has voted to remain a separate kingdom under the rule of House Stark until my son Robb is a man grown.”

Cheers filled the hall, ‘King in the North’, ‘Red Wolf’, ‘Stark’ but all Sansa could think of was the night they had cheered for Jon and she blinked back the tears.

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The next morning Sansa and baby Robb along with their bannermen and council escorted the Targaryen household to the army’s camp from which they would set off. As the army began the march south and the dragons flew upwards, one turned back. Rheagal landed mere feet from where the Lady of Winterfell and her son stood and rather forcefully slid Tyrion off his back before advancing on the Starks.

Sansa watched the great beast but was not afraid; he was Jon’s dragon and he had never hurt her before. Brienne tried to pull her back, but she stood her ground until the dragon lowered its head to her level.

“My lady, I advise you move away,” Brienne pleaded.

Arya placed an arm on the knight, “she would not risk Robb’s life. It will be alright.”

The heat was immense as Rheagal breathed slowly and Sansa started to pull back slightly but Robb’s chubby hands reached out and she watched in amazement as her son patted the beast who in turn let out a noise of contentment.

Tyrion who was also watching in shock, chuckled slightly, “well, it appears I must arrange another means of transport to the South. Who would have imagined that the blood of the dragon ran in the veins of a babe called Robb Stark.”

Rheagal snorted a hot puff before flying up and circling over Winterfell. Sansa hugged Robb close to her chest looking over towards Drogon. Daenerys sat on top of the red and black dragon, clearly furious but with a last look at Sansa, she pulled him up into the air and followed the army. Sansa ran a hand over Robb’s head and smiled a him. This was not the last they had seen of Daenerys but her dragon had changed its loyalty and she would be slow to fight against her own child. Sansa turned and began the walk back inside the walls of Winterfell. Robb was safe. Winterfell was safe. The North was safe. All that was missing was Jon.

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It was three moon turns later when Bran was looking on as Sansa played with baby Robb in the courtyard whilst Arya and Brienne sparred with each other that the gates were opened with a cry of the horn. Before Sansa knew it, a flash of white fur was across the courtyard and sniffing at the cradle beside her.

“ _Ghost_!”

The direwolf was thinner and more scarred than he had been a year ago when she last saw him leave the gates but his eyes were the same deep shade of red that watched her. Sansa flung her arms around the wolf and felt tears rising in her eyes as she breathed in the familiar scent that she had grown used to in the nights he would sleep amongst the furs with her and Jon. She was so caught up in the wolf she didn’t notice how silence had fallen over the courtyard, how Arya had let her sword fall to the ground with a clatter, how Bran gasped and how Brienne fell to her knee, until she heard a voice behind her.

“I would have thought after a year, I might have got a warmer reception than my wolf.”

Sansa’s heart froze as she let go of Ghost and got to her feet, unable to turn around for fear this was another of her nightly dreams. How many times had she imagined this might happen? How many times had she woken up clutching the cold furs on the other side of her bed? How many times had she lay in bed sobbing quietly so as not to wake Robb? She didn’t think she would have turned around if not for the serenely surprised look on Bran’s face. So she turned. And there he was.

Jon Snow. King in the North. But more importantly her husband. Alive. Half-starved with a scraggly beard, matted hair and exhausted eyes. But alive.

“Jon,” she sobbed and moved haltingly across the cobbles until she could bear it no more and flung herself into his arms as she had done years ago in Castle Black. His arms immediately closed around her and her heart soared. He was real. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again. I thought you were dead. Promise me, Jon!”

“Oh Sansa, I promise,” Jon replied into the crook of her neck where she could feel his tears warm against her skin. “I am home.”

“Come here, you must meet your son,” Sansa finally whispered as she pulled away but only far enough as to keep one arm around her husband. Jon followed wordlessly to where Ghost stood sentry. Sansa moved slightly ahead to lift their son from his cradle and turned to her husband.

“He is just over three moons old, little Robb,” said Sansa proudly presenting the boy to his father. Jon looked down on the bundle in her arms awestruck. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he would have a trueborn son whose name was Stark. But there lay his son, with Jon’s own mop of black curls and Sansa’s Tully blue eyes – the same eyes of his namesake. The little boy stared up at him in wonder reaching up a small hand which Jon attentively offered a finger too. Robb instantly grabbed it in a surprisingly strong grip causing Sansa to laugh. It was music to Jon’s ears and he truly couldn’t recall a happier moment in his life than this. He was home in Winterfell with his siblings, his wife and his son. The long night was finally, truly, over.

**Author's Note:**

> So thanks so much for reading this!
> 
> I wrote this some time between series 6 and 7 so I know it doesn't fit the timeline and even then I knew GOT would not have a happy ending. However, a girl can dream and this was my happy Stark family ending. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
